


White Static

by NancyHartigan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Reset, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Vent Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyHartigan/pseuds/NancyHartigan
Summary: Connor wished he could close his eyes and start everything over again, in a bright future, with no memories, no deviancy...and no Lieutenant Hank Anderson to wake him up.





	White Static

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly inspired by THAT comic by Monizilla and general stress in real life as summer finals round the corner on me.
> 
> So sorry, guys.

His stress levels were reading consistently at ninety percent, but at least he had stopped crying for now.

On one hand, deviancy allowed him to feel things that he had never felt before, but on the other, it made him aware of the things he was feeling, and more importantly, the things that he wasn’t. Connor wasn’t even sure at this point how much time had past since he had sat himself in this old armchair and curled into himself. All he had been doing since he had gotten there had been letting tears he didn’t even know he could cry stream down his face off and on and watch his stress level slowly climb up until it simply stayed where it currently was.

At this point, though, he wondered if it was an error. He felt nothing at this point. It almost felt the same as it had, back before everything happened a quarter of a century ago. The sick thing is that he almost wanted it that way. With a simple reset, Connor could just wipe away everything.

_“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were.”_

Things had been so different back then. Hank hated life, but didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger, so he killed himself every day, little by little. This must have been how he felt, every day back then. Connor couldn’t understand it back then, but he felt a little closer to Hank now that he understood.

_“Listen, asshole. If it was up to me I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it.”_

Except that wasn’t Hank.

The Hank he had grown to know wasn’t that shell that he had been back then, period. His partner had been the man that stood beside him as he got sworn into the police department officially, laughed at him every time Connor hadn’t understood something that to a human was so basic, encouraged him to talk to the cute receptionist and then took him out to the bar and bitch about women when that had crashed and burned.

It was the Hank that just yesterday looked him in the eye with the last bit of coherency he had to tell him to not bother calling Markus in to help tomorrow morning and that if he truly “gave a shit” about him, just keep moving forward.

_“You knew it was coming for a while now, don’t give me that damn face. You never really got to enjoy your freedom anyway, you just buckled down with the third person that you were with.”_

Maybe that was what was stopping him. Maybe it was the overwhelming list of prompts that appeared that had to get done before he could even consider it. He ought to get to work on that, but he just felt glued to the spot, watching Hank for any sign at all. A rise or fall from his chest, the set of his jaw as he ground his teeth in his sleep, a twitch of his hand.

Of course, there was nothing. The last breath he had taken was at 11:58 and the sun was starting to rise.

He wanted to feel this void forever. It was better than the alternative.

_Are you sure you want to restore to factory settings? You may never get back any data you have stored._

_…_

Markus was not an idiot. He wouldn’t be where he was today if he had been. When Connor’s usual request failed to come in at its usual time, he already knew and made his way across town. Out of the two of them, he knew exactly which one had been equipped with the knowledge of what needed to be done.

The door was unlocked, so he just invited himself in, silently watching Connor pouring a cup of coffee, the same way he had done every morning for the last twenty-five years.

“Good morning, Markus,” Connor said, mostly to the mug.

“Are you alright?”

“You could have told me resetting doesn’t work. I had just enough time to get everything set up. It didn’t even last five minutes.”

Markus wasn’t sure what to tell him, there. “You’d probably have remembered when you got to work and looked up from your computer. Sometimes resetting works, sometimes it doesn’t. I guess it just matters how strong the bond to your old life was.”

“It’s all right.” Connor turned around, leaning against the counter, still studying the liquid inside, holding it in his hands, feeling the warmth soak in.

There were some memories that he didn’t want to lose, anyway.

Markus was fine taking over for now, thankfully, because all Connor wanted to do was curl up on the couch, turn on some jazz, and get lost in the books that Hank loved so much.


End file.
